The Might of the Jewel
by d'arthur
Summary: Sequel to The Final Duel. War is upon the Realms, and an evil is rising, unknown to all. Darkness is all around our heros, and one must look to their past if victory is to be had. Prepare for the darkest hour, and as things seem worst, look to the light.
1. Default Chapter

Prologue: The Coming Storm  
  
She dreamed she were floating in a sea of dark weightlessness. Her heart was at peace for once and all was calm. She basked in that refuge of calm, amid a sea of tumultuous and roiling emotions barely kept at bay.  
  
And suddenly the feeling of calm was shattered. A shadow grew over her heart and the peace collapsed. A face, a man's face appeared before her, then his entire body materialized before her. She realized that she was seeing into a dark cave, but it was the man's face that drew her attention.  
  
She knew that face.  
  
It was familiar to her, she recognized the contours of the features, chisled into a noble and proud face. She recognized him down to the hazel tinted eyes, so aware, so kind, the firm jaw, the three-days growth of stubble, which only seemed to enhance his masculine beauty. His hair was dark brown and flowed smoothly to his shoulders. He turned and met her gaze and she filled with a silent kind of terror at being discovered, then there was a great building rumble and the vision vanished in a blinding flash of lavender light she could see even behind her eyelids.  
  
Catti-brie's eyes snapped open and she sat straight up in her bed, sheets tangled about her sweating, slim figure. Slowly, she realized where she was and gave a sigh of relief, slumping down to again lay against her pillow. She pondered over the vision again and again, but she still could make no sense of it. Who was that man? Soon enough, without her even realizing it, she slipped back to sleep.  


* * *

The huge barbarian trekked cross-country, taking a short-cut to Mithril Hall. The great mountains at the bottom of which Mithril Hall was set were already in sight on the horizon.  
  
Wulfgar had recieved a message from Alustriel at his home in Calimport, bringing news that Catti-brie was gravely injured. He had left that night, kissing Delly goodbye, rushing cross-country and was now reaching the end of his journey.  
  
He reached the edge of a steep bluff and paused, staring down in surprise.  
  
An army of orcs.  
  
The barbarian was so taken aback that he simply stood tall on the lip of the bluff, staring down at the army for a full thirty seconds. Recovering from his astonishment, he dropped to his belly and crawled to the edge.  
  
There was a group of orcs lazing about directly below Wulfgar and he strained to overhear their conversation. He did not understand orcish, but there was one word that they spat with such derision that he needed not listen any longer.  
  
"Mithril Hall!"  
  
He edged away from the lip of the bluff and rolled to his feet. Moving swiftly, he sprinted away at an angle from the direction the army was traveling.  
  
Some minutes later Wulfgar reached the River Surbin and hastily splashed across, heading for the south-eastern edge of the Spine of the World, where he knew he would find Mithril Hall. He had to warn them.

* * *

The General brushed aside the cloth covering the Campaign Tent's entrance, and exited into the bright sunlight. The army of orcs milled about like a black sea.  
  
"Gragh!" bellowed the General, calling out the name of the commanding orc. The large brute lumbered up and gave a sloppy salute.  
  
The General pointedly ignored this and gave the beast a deadly look. The orc instantly lost its casual attitude. The General was pleased by this. The orc knew better than to toy will the General, otherwise, it knew, it would be worse than dead.  
  
"Take half of your warriors and diverge from the main group," at this the General waved a hand about, indicating the surrounding orc army, "at the River Surbin. You will destroy Silverymoon. I cannot afford to have that fool of a leader of theirs interfering in my plans."  
  
Gragh gaped.  
  
"But...my General..."  
  
"Do it."  
  
There was a sense of dangerous finality to the General's tone which shut the orc commander up immediately.  
  
"Is dere anything you would like to have remain intact?" the orc dared to ask.  
  
"Absolutely not. Leave not one stone standing upon another."  
  
The orc grinned evilly.  
  
"That we can do, my General!"  
  
"Good," the General sneered with disdain.  
  
"What of the peoples there?"  
  
"I haven't the slightest care. Do what you like with them."  
  
"Even the females?"  
  
"That is not my concern. Just do it, and do it right and swiftly."  
  
The orc bowed, saluted, and hastened off to marshal his troops.  
  
An hour later, seventeen thousand orcs departed the camp and began making their way towards Silverymoon.

* * *

The group, comprised entirely of men, hovered around the great elongated table. They peered at each other with mild suspiscion from the shadows of the hoods of their black cloaks. They all knew each other, of course, and had known each other for an extremely long time, as had their fathers known their fathers, and their father's fathers before them, and into the ages past.  
  
This fact, of course, hardly mattered. These were powerful, ruthless men willing to do anything to achieve their wicked goals. They would refer to each other as "trusted friends" the same day that the Abyssal plane froze over.  
  
The room was large and circular. There were no windows; the only light came from the flickering of the torches set into the smooth, black walls and the yellowish candles, casting an undeniable feeling of forboding and evil. This was reinforced by the sinister arcane symbols carved into the walls. Legend spoke of the founder of their council having forced slaves to rend them into the black stone floor and walls with their fingernails, over and over again until the markings were deep enough.  
  
There was a huge double-door set in the wall behind the sole empty seat, a seat of black wood which was intricately carved to appear to be make from skulls, with magical jewels set into every eye socket.  
  
Unexpectedly, the great doors opened slowly, and a lone figure entered the hall, enshrouded in a great, flowing cloak of the deepest black, the cloak's hood raised, conceiling the figure's face from sight. He moved with a flowing sinister grace and bespoke of deadly power and authority. The figure slid into the great chair and set his arms upon the table.  
  
All of them were staring, awaiting expectantly.  
  
There was a lengthy pause as the figure, features totally conceiled from sight by the wrappings of the great hood, did not appear to move. To all in attendance, however, it was known that the figure was slowly eyeing every single one of them individiually. They knew this because they could feel it as his eyes rested upon them, their skin growing clammy and ashen. When the sinister feeling moved on, they relaxed and the colour soon returned to them...at least physically. It was as if the figure were daring them to turn from him, cast aside their esoteric and ancient order and deny him. But this they would—and could—not do, for they were sworn to his eternal cause by vows of bloodline and ability, the words of their vow binding them for their entire lives to the domination of his will.  
  
Finally the figure's gaze fell upon the single empty seat around the table. All present held their collective breath as the silence grew even more deadly. Finally the figure spoke.  
  
"Let this Brotherhood come to order. You all have been summoned here for a reason."  
  
There was a long pause as the hooded figure allowed this to sink in, then continued.  
  
"One of our Order is no longer with us. He was slain."  
  
All eyes glanced at the vacant seat with quiet discomfort.  
  
"This requires for our plans to be amended. Our timetable has been moved up due to this unfortunate, though not unforseen, event. The wizard did not even have the foresight to die for a purpose."  
  
The figure inhaled a long and rasping breath.  
  
"As you all may recall, your Brother, Kilster Dolonen, was sent to the Spine of the World in search of the ninth and largest piece necessary for the complete fruition of our plans. The fool managed to get his caravan attacked—by a group of giants!"  
  
Those gathered desired to shrink back away from the awful voice of rage, but it also held them rooted to their seats, perhaps by morbid facination.  
  
"He then got himself killed by the panther of that drow ranger, Drizzt Do'Urden!"  
  
The figure paused. It reached into its robes and withdrew a crystal ball and set it down on the table before them. It waved a hand over it, and the ball sprung to life. In it, they could clearly see their Brother, Kilster Dolonen, standing over a cowering man.  
  
"Oooh, what a perfect target," Dolonen sighed, and lashed the man writhing on the ground with a distinctive female drow's whip. Then again, and again, he lashed at his victim.  
  
Suddenly, a dark-skinned drow dropped lightly into the snow in front of Dolonen. Dolonen paused, surprised. The drow, recognized as the renegade Drizzt Do'Urden, stood before Dolonen, forearms lightly resting on the handles of his scimitars.  
  
"That is a curious weapon for a wizard," they heard the drow remark. Dolonen sneered.  
  
"Drizzt Do'Urden, I presume?" the wizard commented more than asked.  
  
This seemed to take the drow aback.  
  
"Yes, I know you and your name, drow," they heard Dolonen say, still grinning with menace, "who in all the northland does not?"  
  
The drow bowed low at the remark, and Dolonen instantly moved forward, chanting a spell, when a black blur struck the wizard from behind. Several of the Brothers winced as the black panther finished their one-time companion.  
  
The figure flicked its hand at the crystal ball; the image of red-stained snow vanished in a flash, and it replaced the ball within the confines of its robe.  
  
One of the brothers spoke up.  
  
"How did Kilster control a priestess whip of Lolth? They turn on any but their masters." "The Power of the Jewel is far greater than any paulty charm such as that. Toys like that whip find it impossible to countermand the control of the Jewel," the figure responded.  
  
The brother nodded.  
  
The figure spoke again.  
  
"Do'Urden then stumbled upon the lair of BurningIce, whose dwelling place we have searched for many years to find. BurningIce was the guardian of the ninth piece."  
  
Each of the men around the table glanced at the large jewel hanging from the figure's neck. There was a large chunk clearly missing from the lower portion.  
  
"We have collected all of the pieces save one. That one. It must be recovered—at all cost! Brothers Kilinor and Estael will travel to the Spine of the World in search of the ninth shard. Victory shall be rewarded with life and powers beyond imagination. Failure will be punished with a fate worse than death."  
  
Understanding their instructions, the council was soon dismissed and the brothers scattered and departed, each moving to their appointed places, each according to their instructed purpose.  
  
The Brotherhood of the Skull adjourned. 

Next Chapter: Beginnings and Developments


	2. Chapter One: Beginnings and Developments

Chapter One: Beginnings and Developments 

_Drizzt is dead._

_My love, my companion, and in my heart, my husband. If only that dream had had time to come into fruition. But it did not, has not, and will not happen. For I cannot marry a dead man, or rather, drow. That dream was torn from me as my heart has been torn from my chest—at least that is how it now feels._

_It is not really a physical pain, but it is a physical sensation. It is a sense of futility, of meaningless, a physical feeling of hopelessness and uncaring depression that takes hold of my heart as if someone has reached into my chest and is slowly crushing my heart, it is as if my heart is transformed into lead inside, as if nothing in the world no longer matters. It is a dull aching deep within the very fiber of my being, as if a part of me has been cleaved from the rest._

_Then there is the unbelief._

_Somehow, for some foolish reason, there is a small spark within me that refuses to believe that he is dead, that cannot, will not, accept that. And yet there is my heartache that mourns as if he is indeed dead, defying that small part of me that refuses to accept that he is dead. And I cannot understand why there is that feeling of hope, however small. Drizzt was tough, certainly, but not tough enough to survive a fall like that. But that, to imagine his broken and battered body lying amidst the Spine of the World, that I cannot do. It is a false hope; and somehow. . . . it makes the pain all the greater._

_There is also the anger. I am angry. My heart and mind broil with barely contained rage. I lash out at those who love me, without reason or provocation. I am angry with everyone, the entire world. But I am particularly angry at those who were there, who watched him die and did nothing. I do understand that there was nothing they could have done, but that does not stop the brain from fantasizing that someone could have caught him and saved him._

_I can still feel Drizzt when I sleep, during those times of not truly waking nor sleeping, I can feel him, holding me in his arms, my head resting on his strong, smooth shoulder, feeling his soft, warm breath on my neck. And this makes my heart ache all the more._

_I am haunted by him in my dreams. In my sleep I can see him, see it happen, see the black arrow punch through his chest, see him stagger backward, see him vanish over the side. Then I see purple light everywhere, permeating the world, and I feel as if it were me that fell over that cliff._

_As if I were the one who died._

_My heart is dark, my mind confused with anger and grief, and I feel my destiny closing in, like a great suffocating, smothering blanket._

--Catti-brie

* * *

Raregar the barbarian stared out at the distant sunrise as he adjusted his grip on Drizzt Do'Urden's cold body. Compared to that frozen wind, even the drow ranger's body seemed warm in comparison. He did not feel the biting and slicing icewind that gave Icewind Dale itsname, or if he did notice, pointedly took no heed of it. 

He was the champion warrior of the barbarian tribe of the Wolf, one of the many tribes that eked out an existence in the frozen wilderlands of the unpopulated areas of Icewind Dale.

Careful of his charge, he picked a path down through the mountains. He was already descending downwards out of the mountain chain of the Spine of the World.

He could feel the frigidicewind dying as he picked out a path towards the southern edge of the mountains and out of Icewind Dale, heading ultimately for Mithril Hall.

The barbarian warrior shrugged away the cold through sheer determination and will power, pushing away any thoughts of fatigue or chill, focusing entirely on exiting the mountains and onto the lower plains where he could rest for the fast-approaching night.

It would not be safe to camp in the mountains. This was not to say that it was any safer on the plains, just that the barbarian would be able to see any potential trouble from a fair distance, unlike in the mountains where there was uneven ground and predators could jump the unwary—and oftentimes the wary as well—without warning.

The warrior part of his mind liked the idea of an honorable challenge from some creature. Always eager for battle, that was how Raregar had, early in his youth, proved himself to be the greatest of all the warriors of the Tribe of the Wolf, and by the time of his twentieth year he had established himself as Champion.

Time wore on. The sun slowly set in the distance as a blazing ball of orange, and it began to snow gently as night fell. The sun was just vanishing under the horizon when Raregar emerged from the mountains onto the snow-crusted plains below the Spine of the World.

He moved quickly along the base of the mountains, the jagged outcroppings of rock shielding the barbarian from the chilled wind. Once he found one which shielded them the most from the whistling wind, he gently set Drizzt's body down, and huddled against the rock as far away from wind as possible and set about trying to make a small fire.

The night progressed, and Raregar got no sleep, amid the biting winds and snow.

* * *

Catti-brie awoke some hours later, and lay under the thin sheets, her mind awhirl with confusion, grief, and anger. 

She could feel him next to her, his strong arms around her, holding her tight. She could see him in her mind's eye, pressed up close to her, a gentle smile on his lips as he played with her hair.

And yet she was alone.

She felt the bitterness welling up again. She cursed, forced the emotion down again, kicked the sheets away from her body, rolled out of the soft bed and dressed hurriedly, throwing a tunic over her head and tugged up a pair of breeches. She moved to the wooden door and shoved it open, ignoring the echoing bang it made in the hallway as it swung open and bounced into the wall.

Her mind turned inward upon the turmoil of the events of the last few weeks, culminating in the death ofDrizzt, as shetramped through the stone hallways of Mithril Hall, barely aware of her surroundings.

Several passageways later, she collided with Regis, who gave a squeak of surprise as he fell hard on his backside.

"Sorry, Catti-brie—"the halfling started.

"Watch where you're going!" Catti-brie snapped irritably, and continued walking, leaving the hurt halfling to his business.

Some minutes later, she emerged from Mithril Hall into the rising sun and climbed the short distance to a high cliff's edge overlooking the ravine below which led up to the great doors of the Hall.

She dropped to the ground and slid her legs over the edge of the cliff, dangling them over open air, and watched the sun rise. She recalled the time she and Drizzt had done so, holding hands and drinking in the welcoming warmth of the sun.

Now it seemed neither welcoming nor happy, and the rays of the sun felt unnatural on her skin. It even looked harsh.

From there, overlooking the beauty of the world, Catti-brie once again gave herself to her overflowing emotions, and wept.

* * *

Having finished watching the sun rise, and becoming desperate to escape painful memories, Catti-brie left the cliff-side and re-entered Mithril Hall, winding through the stone passageways, and ignoring or snapping irritably at those she met along the way. 

Deep in her own thoughts, she simply lost herself in them and let her feet take her where they wished.

She had many questions that desperately needed answers. Why did Drizzt have to die?_Why,_ when she was near-death in her bed, had her spirit gone to him, helped him to live through that brief period if he was only to perish later? What were these dreams she kept having? Why did she have to live? Actually, come to think of it, how is it that she had lived at all?There was a part of her that wished very much to know the answers, and another part of her that understood that if she did know, her life would be irrevocably altered forever, maybe even to the point of not even being recognizably Catti-brie.

Nonetheless, there was a rising part of her that sought to re-examine her life to this point, to change.

It was then that she realized that her feet had taken her to the Great Hall, and she was pushing open the door before she even realized where she was.

She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Bruenor sitting with a man Catti-brie loathed to recognize. It was Artemis Entreri.

Both of them turned as she entered, and Bruenor looked uncomfortable. Entreri simply nodded to Catti-brie.

"What is he doing here?" She demanded.

Bruenor opened and closed his mouth several times.

"Nothing," he finally lied.

But Entreri had already stood and faced Catti-brie.

"Actually, I am here to deliver a message to you."

Catti-brie looked at him with undisguised suspicion.

"Me? From who?"

"From Alustriel."

Now Catti-brie was completely taken aback. Of all the answers she suspected, that was the last.

"A-Alustriel?"

Bruenor jumped to his feet.

"Don't ye be speaking further, Entreri! Next thing ye're words'll have her back to her bed!"

Entreri pointedly ignored the dwarf.

"Yes. She says that she understands what you are going through and that for the answers you seek, you should travel to Silverymoon at once."

"She'll be going nowhere! She's barely healed! She must r'cover her strength!" Bruenor bellowed, not that either of the others were listening. Their eyes had locked and there was private communication passing between them

Entreri moved towards Catti-brie.

"Please, Catti-brie...." He said hurriedly, for she had shied away from him. "I know it won't do much for you, but I am sorry for—"

"Get out," she whispered, her voice trembling, pressing against the wall next to the door, as if hoping it would swallow her up.

Entreri opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it again. He looked around helplessly, then sighed, pushed open the door and exited, making his way out of Mithril Hall.

When they were alone, she let out a shuddering gasp and slumped to the floor, arms wrapped around her knees.

"Catti-brie," Bruenor said, starting for her.

"Stay away from me!" she shouted, scrambling to her feet again.

Bruenor gave her a wounded look, as if she had tried to stab him.

She groaned and clutched at her head, eyes squeezed shut, swaying on her feet. Through the black she saw. It was a field, covered with corpses, blood and gore everywhere. The field was slick with it. She walked among the fallen. She saw them all. Wulfgar. Bruenor. Alustriel. The Harpels. Regis. Captain Deudermont. Drizzt. Entreri. Guenhwyvar'sstatue lay shattered and crushed. Cadderly.

She screamed.

Everywhere she turned, she saw the bodies of those she knew, killed, brutally hacked. Everywhere she tried to run, there they were, looking up at her, as if silently accusing her of not stopping the inevitable.

"Catti-brie!" Bruenor shouted, looking on in horror as she screamed again, a high pitched wail of sheer terror and anguish. Chills rolled over his skin as he saw her eyes, staring blanking at nothingness, haunted, empty orbs of anguish and terror.

At the sound of her name, her eyes snapped open wide, and Bruenor stared at those eyes. They were subtly different, though Bruenor couldn't tell how.

He reached out to steady her, but she shied away, still picturing the images of Bruenor dead on that field.

"Don't touch me!" she snarled, gasping for breath.

Bruenor paused, stunned and hurt at her words.

She straightened, breathing hard, adrenaline running wild in her veins.

"Catti-brie...." Bruenor practically whispered. "Me daughter..."

She stared at him through the eyes of a caged animal, feral and terrified, lost and confused.

Without a word, she turned away, pushed through the door and vanished from sight, leaving a helpless Bruenor behind her in the Great Hall of Mithril Hall.

* * *

Catti-brie returned to her room, slammed and bolted her door, and collapsed on her bed. There was definitely something wrong with her. She was being cut off from those she loved; she could feel the mental barrier going up around her. It was a growing feeling of disillusionment and disattachment with the world and what it had to offer. 

It had been that way ever since she had lost Drizzt. There was a pain that disconnected her to the cheer and beauty of the world. To her it was all great shades of grays and blacks, there was no life anywhere, only shadows of death and depression. She couldn't stand it any longer. She had to have answers.

Her mind went back and forth on whether or not she should go. There was some sort of mental hurdle she had to pass over before she could.She knew in her heart that if she went, her life would never be the same again, that she might not even be the same person. Then again, it wasn't as if her life would ever be as it was before Drizzt's death. It wasn't like she wanted to be depressed and angry for the rest of her life. The only change could be positive.

Catti-brie broke a small, shallow smile for the first time in weeks.

Silently, she stood and began to pack.

* * *

The General leaned forward against the makeshift table, digging the heels of his hands into the rough wood as he stared down at a large map of Icewind Dale and the Sword Coast. Small black blocks of wood were settled in specific places on the map. Currently there were several clumps of blocks, one in Icewind Dale, one heading towards Silverymoon, and the largest clump moving slowly towards Mithril Hall. 

The General smiled. It was the largest trap Faerun had ever seen, and when they were each in their appointed place, it would snap shut against a singular point like a very, very large hammer.

"What are you smiling about?" a sly voice asked.

The General looked up and frowned.

A cloaked figure moved through the tent flap to stand before him.

"A derk for your thoughts?"

The General was silent.

"Not much of a sense of humor?"

"Be careful how you address me, woman," the General snapped.

The figure threw back its hood to reveal the ebony features of a drow female. She appeared angry.

"I am a drow, not one of your gangly, pale, ugly human females!"

The General shrugged.

"You will have respect for me!" she nearly shrieked.

The General lifted a hand towards her and she was lifted from the ground, legs kicking. Holding her there, the General cocked his head, as if regarding her as something of a curiosity.

"I could crush you," the General said. It was not in anger, not in frustration, not a threat. He stated it as if it were merely a fact. The effect was chilling.

"And do not assume that I am human."

He dropped his hand and she collapsed to the ground.

"I am much more than that," whispered the General.

The drow female slowly gathered her legs under herself and climbed to her feet again.

"I know that in your culture, the females are in charge, but here gender does not determine worth. Power determines worth. To be without power is to be without worth."

She glared at him, but now there was the hint of fear in her eyes.

"Do not forget that." His voice was cold, deadly.

* * *

Some time later, Catti-brie walked determinedly up the stone passageway, heading for the surface, adjusting a pack on her shoulder as she went. 

Her heart felt a dull ache at leaving, but she tried unsuccessfully in forcing from her mind. She wanted nothing more than to forget her heart and the dead man it loved.

Perhaps a new life would help her do so.

She turned a corner and found Regis walking towards her, his head bent low. He looked up as she rounded the corner, and his expression became one of uncertainty and, perhaps, fear.

Then his eyes fell upon the pack on her shoulders, and he shook his head.

"No, don't tell me..."

Catti-brie sighed and looked away.

"You can't leave," the halfling protested. "Everyone leaves, and they don't come back!"

She knew to whom he was referring, and she felt angry that he had brought Drizzt up.

"You can't stop me," she said, her jaw set.

The halfling shook his head.

"I'm not trying to. It's just—we already lost Drizzt, I don't want another friend lost."

Catti-brie was silent. Her internal emotions were too confused to warrant an answer. She closed her eyes and a tear formed in the corner. Drawing a deep breath to relax herself, she opened her eyes and looked at Regis.

"I'm already gone." Tears were forming more readily now. "You lost me when I lost Drizzt. I need to. . . sort things out. Maybe someday I can come back, but not just now. . . ."

She pushed past him, then paused, reached down and grabbed a handful of the halfling's tunic and pulled him off his feet. She looked at him hard. He saw into the infinite depths of her pain and despair in her eyes, and was silent.

"And I don't want anyone coming after me, got that? No one. I don't want to see or hear or talk to any of you. Not Bruenor, not Wulfgar, not anyone. There's nothing any of you can say that I haven't already heard. This is my fight, and I need to fight it on my own."

She dropped him without even waiting for a response and pushed past him. She did not look back.

Five minutes later, she emerged from Mithril Hall, and cut cross country, never even glancing backat the horrible memories. They beat against the insides of her head like great, black serpents. Slowly, as she continued onward away from Mithril Hall, she felt them fade a bit, and she allowed a little, sad smile, to curl the corners of her mouth.

Perhaps she might have looked back, had she known what the future held.

* * *

The day after Catti-brie left Mithril Hall was a frantic day for Bruenor. He had been searching for Catti-brie ever since he realized that she had not been seen for a whole day. They had checked her rooms, and Bruenor was now anxiously awaiting Pwent's report, after being sent to scour the whole of Mithril Hall for her. 

"Any luck, Bruenor?"

Regis was entering the Great Hall. Bruenor looked up, then shook his head.

"You...you don't think she might have left?" Regis asked timidly, trying to appear as if he had just thrown the idea out there.

Bruenor shook his head.

"Nah, she'd not—"

Whatever it was that she would not do, Regis never found out, because Bruenor met his eyes, and they narrowed.

"What would make ye think she'd want te be leavin?"

Regis shrugged, a little too casually.

"Oh, I don't know. Just guessing."

Bruenor sprang from his seat and grabbed Regis by the tunic.

"Where's she gone? What do ye know, halfling?"

"Me? I—Nothing! Nothing at all!"

Bruenor shook the unfortunate halfling violently, then glared at Regis with eyes glinting with danger.

"I'm not bein' interested in yer little games, Regis. Where has me daughter gone?"

"All right! She said something about Silverymoon!"

Bruenor let go of Regis, who gratefully readjusted his wrinkled tunic.

"But she said she didn't want any of us to follow her. She was. . . quite insistent about that."

"None of us?" Bruenor asked.

"No, not you, not me, not Wulfgar—"

"Me king!"

Bruenor turned eagerly, as Pwent burst in through the doors of the Great Hall, hopping around the room in agitation.

"Me king, we searched the whole of Mithril Hall, but we could not a trace of her."

"Never mind, never mind. She's heading for Silverymoon. I want ye to be takin' two of yer best dwarven trackers and have 'em follow her, make sure she's all right."

His voice was determined. Pwent nodded.

There was a thunderous, resounding crash as something heavy and powerful fell against the doors outside, thrusting the huge, thick, heavy doors aside as if they were as light as straws to bang against the stone walls, and Wulfgar staggered into the Great Hall.

Bruenor was on his feet in surprise as the large man collapsed onto the floor, breathing hard. His hair was tangled and unwashed, his trousers covered with spattered mud, and, Bruenor saw, blood as well, and his skin was covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Wulfgar! Ye bein' all right? What happened to ye?"

"I ran for miles," the winded Wulfgar explained, "to get here. . . . orcs. . . found me."

"Orcs? How many?"

"Perhaps fifty thousand. . ."

Bruenor looked at his adopted son as if he had not quite heard correctly. Pwent was stunned into silence, finally ceasing his agitated hopping.

"An army of orcs?" he asked wonderingly.

Wulfgar nodded gravely.

"Bruenor," the winded human panted, leaning close to emphasize the seriousness of what he was about to say. "Bruenor. . . .they're coming here."

"What do ye mean, 'coming here'?"

"I mean that fifty thousand heavily armed orcs are preparing to assault Mithril Hall."

Wulfgar paused to let this sink in.

"But. . . why?" Bruenor asked

Wulfgar snorted and shook his head.

"Since when do orcs need a reason? I have told you all I know. Besides, does it matter why an army of orcs is coming when the important thing is that they are coming?"

Bruenor couldn't argue with the logic, but still, the magnitude of the thought. There had never been an army fifty thousand strong ever before assembled in the Realms.

"How long until they arrive?" Bruenor asked, his voice quiet.

"I give us not more than a week, possibly three days, depending on how swiftly they march."

Bruenor breathed out a heavy sigh.

"Do we evacuate? Get everyone out before they can arrive?"

Wulfgar and Pwent looked in surprise at Bruenor.

"Don' look at me like tha'!" Bruenor bellowed. "I'm jus' askin' if ye think we can hold 'em off here. I'm a king now. Gotta be lookin' after the bes' interests of me people. We've got womenfolk and children here, the last thing I'm wantin' is a massacre."

"Mithril Hall is an extremely defensible position. We withstood the Dark Elves' invasion, we can withstand this. Besides, if we run, we risk being caught on indefensible ground and many will die. If we can hold this storm at bay here, even defeat it, how many lives of those in surrounding villages and cities will we save?" Wulfgar said.

Bruenor was nodding eagerly, unable, and unwilling to argue the point. He had been uncertain before, because, he thought, he was worried about Catti-brie. Had he thought deeper, he would have realized that they were allowing an invading army to besiege them. If they breached the tunnels inside, it would be a massacre.

"Yes," Bruenor was saying. "We shall stand here and fight."

Pwent thrust a fist of excitement into the air.

Bruenor began pacing in his eagerness for a battle, one last battle.

"This warning gives us time to plan and prepare defenses. I think that we should not allow them to our gates without opposition. We shall not simply remain inside our tunnels while the darkness surrounds us!"

He spun on Wulfgar and Pwent.

"We have much to prepare!"

* * *

As the eastern sky grew dark, Catti-brie broke into a run. She wanted to reach the safety of Silverymoon before she stopped. After the Yeti attack had nearly cost her her life, she was not keen on spending a night out-of-doors at the moment. At any rate, she could see itslights glittering in the distance. 

Soon she was forced to stop running, because the injuries in her side were becoming quite painful, and she continued in a kind of bizarre limping gait.

Over the next hour, she watched it draw steadily closer, but her energy, which had been so high that morning, was now leaving her, and her legs were growing more tired. At least, she thought, I'm keeping warm. For her torso felt very warm, oddly warm. She knew that the bleeding had started again, and had been for a while. She had to make it to Silverymoon. . .

Feeling light-headed, she stumbled onward determinedly. Her hand brushed against her side, and she felt wetness on her fingers. She stopped, only a hundred yards from the gates to Silverymoon, and lifted her hand. Even in the failing light, she could tell that it was blood. She touched her side again, and her hand came away slick with the stuff.

She took two more staggering steps, noting how light-headed she was feeling, and then simply collapsed onto the snow, oblivion taking her to darkness and peace.

* * *

Raregar sat upon the hard, cold snow, wrapped in furs, watching the sky turn blood-red over the horizon as the sun rose once again. The start of a new day. He closed his eyes as the first warm rays struck his face. 

It had been several days since he had emerged from the mountains, several days of cold and sore muscles and constant walking. His feet were hurting, a dull sort of ache that refused to go away, and he knew it wouldn't until he had had a descent rest.

He sat there, enjoying the rest for some time longer, mustering his strength and willpower. Then, with a sigh, he got up, noting that his legs had gone unpleasantly numb from the cold.

Stretching his powerful muscles, he turned and reached down to pick of the body of Drizzt Do'Urden.

He groaned as he lifted the body; his muscles were sore from carrying it. But there was something different about it this time, except he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Well, it seemed a little less stiff than before, but that could simply be because the weather was warming as it approached spring.

But there was something else. . .the whole body seemed a little firmer than before, some of the bones solid where before they had been pulverized by the fall.

It hit him then. The body was. . .

His eyes opened in shock and surprise. He staggered backwards, lost his balance and fell to the snow, stuned speechless.

It was warm.


	3. Chapter Two: Remember the Past

Chapter Two: Remember the Past 

The cave was dark and dank. Lit from the flickering light of torches, shadows rippled and flowed like water on the stone walls.

She moved along through the cave, stepping carefully over rock washed smooth by water. It was huge, wide and deep. Stalagmites hung from the ceiling, some as thick as a ship's mast.

She sensed movement around behind her. Drawing her sword, she spun, ready to confront whatever manner of creature it was.

She nearly dropped her sword. It was he, the man who was haunting her dreams. He stood before her, clad in pale browns and tans, wearing a beautiful forest-green cloak clasped at his throat. He was gazing at her, as if confused by something.

"You remind me of my daughter," he said. "Do you know her?"

"No," she replied. "I'm...sorry."

"Pity."

"Who are you?"

"I am he who guards that which you seek, though you know not that you seek it."

"That's not an answer."

"It is answer enough for now."

"I don't agree," she snapped, irritated.

"I don't agree with your disagreement. Let me ask you: what is it you seek?"

She stared at him.

"I...I don't know," she answered finally.

"Therein lies your problem. You cannot see past your uncertainty, your insecurities, your grief. They consume you, and if you do not stop them, you will be destroyed by them. Look past them, understand them, and then master them."

"How do I do that?"

The figure was silent for a long moment. When he began again, it was as if he has not heard their conversation.

"Find my daughter. She has forgotten me, though she seeks me. She has the answers to that which you seek. She can help you."

"How do I find her then?"

"You will know when you have found her."

She was drawn away from him then. She found that she was floating in the air as she drifted down a stone corridor. It began like a lazy walk which increased faster and faster until she was rocketing down the corridor it breakneck speed.

A woman's voice cut through the stone.

"Come back to us...."

She rounded a corner and at the end of the corridor was a great, blinding lavender light. It engulfed her in its radiance.

Catti-brie awoke with a start to a beautiful room. Everything was blurry. A shadowy figure leaned over her, and the soft, ethereal voice reached her ears again.

"Welcome back, Catti-brie."

* * *

Bruenor threw open the doors to Mithril Hall's great hall and rushed in, clutching a parchment in his fist.

Wulfgar sat at the end of the great table, a few steps from Bruenor's throne, bandages wrapped around his wounds. Regis and Pwent were with him. A large, browning parchment was resting on the table between them and they were peering at it, apparently in intense conversation.

They all looked up as Bruenor entered.

He skidded to a stop next to Wulfgar and sat down, triumphantly throwing the parchment to the table.

"Yer report was just confirmed," Bruenor said to Wulfgar. "Tha's the first scouting report. Only thing is ye overestimated their numbers. They've only got about thirty-three thousand."

"Oh, is that all," Regis said, rolling his eyes. "Well, that will be so much easier then."

Bruenor glared at him.

"Me king," Pwent said, "we've been preparin' our defenses," waving his hand at the parchment they had been staring at. It was a schematic of Mithril Hall.

"Good," Bruenor said.

"We're not for knowin' how much about Mithril Hall these orcs be knowin' so we figure stationin' patrols in all the lower tunnels, in case their for tryin' to invade tha' way. We've stationed companies at every major entrance te the Hall, and it migh' be a good plan te rig the entrances and lower entry tunnels for collapse, in case it comes te that," Pwent explained.

Bruenor nodded.

"Good. Ye have me authority to begin workin' on riggin' te tunnels."

Bruenor glanced at the map. He pointed outside of Mithril Hall.

"Any thoughts of outside defenses? The orcs won't be arrivin' for another five days at least at their present pace."

"If t'were me, me King, I'd not bother with outer defenses. We're not for needing them; we have better chances if we dug in here, within the Hall," Pwent said.

Bruenor shook his head.

"I'm not for agreein'. If we establish perimeters defenses, it will slow the orcs down and perhaps make them think twice about continuin' this fight."

Pwent was silent.

Bruenor pulled the map closer and stared at it for a long moment.

"Yes, if we were te place defenses on the ridgeline and secondary defensive fallback lines closer to Mithril Hall, we may even be able to turn back this enemy before they even have a chance to attack the Hall itself."

Wulfgar looked at Bruenor.

"Why?" he asked simply.

"I want te minimumize risk to the civilians. The longer we keep the fighting from the Hall, the safer fer everyone."

They stared at him.

"What? I'm bein' a King now, ye know!" Bruenor bellowed. "I've gotta be lookin' out for me people."

"Me King, we—"

"—will set outer defenses?" asked Bruenor with a dangerous look?

"Yes, me king," Pwent responded finally.

Bruenor sat back in his seat.

"Good. Then it's settled."

Minutes later, dwarves were marching out of the great doors of Mithril Hall, heading for the ridges to prepare the defenses.

* * *

Gragh the orc commander marched at the front of the great column of orcs. He listened with pleasure at the rhymic thundering of seventeen heavily armored boots striking the ground at the same time.

He glanced back and grinned in sinister satisfaction as he saw the militant and eager looks of determination in the eyes of his army.

As his gaze returned to the road ahead, he started in surprise. A rider mounted upon a great black steed was riding forward towards the army.

"Ready arms!" bellowed Gragh.

The rider galloped closer as the orcs waited for signs of hostility. The rider came within ten paces of the front of the line, and halted turning the horse sideways. The rider, now clearly seen as a man wearing a billowing cloak of the pitchest black.

The line of orcs halted.

"Lower your weapons!" bellowed the man, and there was an undeniable authority to the voice, as if infused with a greater power than normal mortals. "I am sent by the General."

Gragh stepped forward, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Do you have the sign?" the orc asked.

The man reached to his neck and pulled a medallion from beneath his tunic. The medallion was gold, with many ancient runes engraved in it. A sizable jewel was set in the center of the medallion.

"I bear the mark of the Brotherhood," the rider said, "and come with the full authority of the Jewel."

The orc nodded. The rider replaced the medallion within his tunic.

The rider then dismounted, holding the reins of his horse in his hand. He moved closer to Gragh.

"I am Brother Manthur. Make camp here. We have much to discuss."

* * *

Raregar bent over the prone body of Drizzt Do'Urden. He pressed his fingers to Drizzt's neck, feeling the pulse. The barbarian nodded. The pulse was growing stronger.

He had not continued to travel towards Mithril Hall since discovering Drizzt was alive. That was two days ago and Drizzt had not notably improved.

A fire crackled next to him as it slowly died. He got up and collected some more wood from the pile sitting next to the fire and tossed them on the dying flames.

He turned again and sat down. Now he waited.

* * *

Catti-brie took in the scene around her. Several elvish clerics surrounded her. One of them smiled as she stared about, then lifted a small vial of something, uncorked it, and handed it to Catti-brie. She looked at it cautiously.

"Don't worry, it is not poisoned," said a voice from the doorway. Alustriel entered. "For what reason would I have to poison you?"

The room itself was furnished with beautifully and intricately carved furniture. Designs flowed into each other.

Alustriel sat down in a chair next to the bed in which Catti-brie rested. She smiled at Catti-brie.

"You know," the ethereal human began, "when I sent for you, there was a hidden implication that you would arrive alive."

Catti-brie grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"Your wounds were not fully healed. You took a foolish risk doing what you did."

Alustriel's voice was now sharp. Catti-brie frowned at her. Alustriel sighed, and her features softened.

"Well, the important thing is that you're safe now." She looked at the vial in Catti-brie's hand. "Drink," she urged.

"How did I get here?" Catti-brie asked.

Alustriel smiled again.

"I have my ways."

Catti-brie sighed.

"Well, recover your strength," Alustriel said, starting to rise from her seat. "We have much to talk about, you and I."

Catti-brie's hand lashed out and grabbed Alustriel's wrist, holding her in place.

"I haven't come this far to wait any longer. I want some answers."

Alustriel hesitated, as if debating whether to walk out or not. She looked into Catti-brie's eyes, into the deep wells of confusion and pain, and something in her made her sit down again.

"Very well."

Catti-brie smiled.

"What did you wish to know?" Alustriel asked.

This question, so simple, so direct, startled Catti-brie. Suddenly, in the face of the answers she sought, she realized that she had no idea what to say.

"Suddenly, I'm not sure..." Catti-brie said.

Alustriel nodded sympathetically and simply waited, knowing Catti-brie would eventually seek to fill the silence. Better to let her talk.

"Why did Drizzt have to die?" Catti-brie whispered.

"Alas," said Alustriel. "The first question you ask cannot be answered. Things will become clear before the end. Fate can be cruel, but always remember that all things happen with a purpose."

Catti-brie looked less than happy with that answer, but was silent. She sighed and asked her next question.

"Did I die? When I was injured?"

Alustriel smiled.

"Are you dead or living now?"

"I don't know anymore."

"That's a terribly depressing thing to say. In answer, yes, you did."

"Then how was it that I went to Drizzt in spirit? If I had died?"

Alustriel leaned forward.

"When two people twain under the stars, two people truly in love, there is a merging that occurs, an intermingling of soul and spirit and the two become one."

Catti-brie blushed. Alustriel smiled.

"When this happens, the two people are connected together forever, a connection that transcends space, time, and even death.When you were at the very verge of death, you sensed that Drizzt needed you, and so your spirit was drawn to him through this bond, and you led him to safety in a time of his greatest need."

"But he died anyway."

"We all die, Catti-brie, eventually, for we are all mortal. I'm sure you do not think that because we all are going to die eventually we should not help others who need aid."

Catti-brie shook her head. Of course not. She sighed.

"It just all seems so pointless to me."

Alustriel lays her hand on Catti-brie's shoulder.

"That," she said, "is because you cannot see all ends."

Catti-brie tried to sit up, but Alustriel pressed her back down gently with her hand.

"Do not try to move just yet. You are not fully recovered," Alustriel said firmly. "You must take care of yourself."

There was a slight smile playing about Alustriel's lips as she spoke.

I guess I would look a little amusing, Catti-brie thought to herself.

"Is there anything else?" Alustriel asked.

"Actually, there is. I keep having these dreams. . ."

"Visions."

"What?" Catti-brie asked.

"You are not dreaming. At least, not exactly."

Alustriel paused, as if attempting to decide whether to speak further or wait until Catti-brie was healed.

"What is it?" Catti-brie asked. "You can tell me."

Alustriel forced a smile and made a decision.

"I know I can."

She stood, and moved away from the bed, her dress seeming to float behind her.

"You have the gift of prophesy." Alustriel said simply.

There was a pregnant silence.

"That's impossible," Catti-brie said. "I have never shown—"

"Signs of your ability before? No. You wouldn't. Your gift is different than that of most prophetesses. Where they will get glimpses of the future, you do not. At least, not exactly. You see alternate futures. You see the consequences of choice, of fate."

Alustriel began to pace.

"What have you seen thus far? Images of death, of destruction?"

"Yes," Catti-brie whispered. "I have seen all of you . . .dead. On a battlefield, covered with blood."

Alustriel nodded.

"This is the future—if, and only if, something is not done. Or rather, undone. As of now, it is only a possibility."

"Wait, wait a second. What do you mean, 'undone'?"

At this question, Alustriel seemed to become extremely agitated—perhaps nervous.

"Are you familiar with the legend of Shancar?"

Catti-brie looked thoughtful.

"Wasn't he a wizard?"

Alustriel nodded, resuming her pacing on the floor at the foot of the bed.

"Yes and no. Eons ago, according to the story, long before even the drow were cast into the Underdark, much longer before that even, Shancar lived. He knew something which very few others know. He knew of the existence of the Jewel. It is not known how long the Jewel has existed, but it was the single physical well of magic that all Magic-wielders draw from. The powers of the deities flow into the Jewel, which is a storage place for their powers, accessible only to those who can master the ability to draw from this place of power. The result is what is called magic.

"None know when the Jewel was forged, or who conjured it. The tale goes that one day, Shancar, in a fit of greed, decided to find the Jewel. The holder of the Jewel can bestow or restrain magical flow to the rest of the world. He searched for many years, and at last, he found it. But the gods realized his plan from the outset and confronted Shancar.

"But in a fit of rage at being denied this power, Shancar took up a club and struck the Jewel. Shattered by the wrath of the mage Shancar, it broke into ten pieces, which were scattered to the farthest corners of the Realms, laying dormant in solitude. All of magic suffered for it's breaking, and now, unable to draw from a whole source, the powers that mages and magic users wield are significantly lessened."

Catti-brie took this in.

"So what does this have to do with me?"

"Since the time of Shancar, there has been a group of Mages, led by Shancar's descendents, who have drunk deeply of the dark arts and the occult. They have been searching for millennia to recover all of the shards and re-bond the Jewel, giving them the power of the gods, the ability to give or deny all magical power. With the complete shard together, they could conceivably even try to usurp the gods themselves. They have recovered all the pieces, save two."

"I still don't understand what this has to do with me," Catti-brie said, frowning.

"Do you remember anything about your parents?"

Catti-brie looked as if Alustriel had just reached out and slapped her across the face.

"My...parents?"

"Yes, but—"

"You mean to tell me that you knew my parents and never told me about them?" Catti-brie tried to yell. It was largely a failure and came out more like an asthmatic hippo.

"Did I say I knew them?" Alustriel countered.

Catti-brie was silent.

"I only ever met your mother once, very briefly," Alustriel said, softly.

"So you did know them," Catti-brie accused angrily.

"We never talked."

There was a silence.

"What was she like?" Catti-brie whispered.

"So you don't remember them?"

"No." The answer was barely audible. "I only remember a feeling . . .a warm feeling. I'm getting it now, because I'm thinking about it."

"I was given a number of their effects, which they wanted you to have, when the time was right. I would have given them to you long ago, but you and your friends always vanish for months at a time."

Catti-brie smiled.

Alustriel moved to a small anteroom whispered a faint spell and the click of several locks releasing was heard. She pushed open the door and slipped through, then closed it behind her. She was gone for several moments, then reemerged, holding a folded piece of sealed parchment.

"How did they die?" Catti-brie asked.

Alustriel looked very uncomfortable.

"I don't think I'm the right person to tell you that. All will be revealed soon."

"You keep saying that, but I want it to be revealed now!" Catti-brie snapped.

"Unfortunately, not enough is now known for you to believe me, even if I did tell you. You must see the evidence yourself. You must retrace the steps of your parents. At the end of that path all things will be revealed and all will be changed for it."

Catti-brie was silent.

Alustriel approached the bed again.

"Your father kept a journal. He wanted for you to read it, when the time was right. I thought you should have the first part of it; as you won't be going anywhere for a while."

She handed the parchment over to Catti-brie, who took it and gazed at the seal. It was very old, but looked like two great hands reaching for a human who was floating about the earth. Behind this human were large lines radiating outward, as if the human were blocking a source of great light.

* * *

Raregar moved closer to the flames in order to tend the fire. He poked at the wood with a stick, causing sparks to float into the air.

Behind him, he heard a gasp of breath. He quickly turned to find Drizzt Do'Urden alive and his eyes open. The barbarian stared. Those eyes! They blazed with a lavender fire, even in the daylight.

He moved closer to Drizzt, to help him move. As fast as lightning, the Drow's arm lashed out and blasted into the barbarian's chest, knocking him backwards, sliding across the snow. Drizzt's arms began roaming for his weapons. Finding none, he rolled to his feet and stood looking at the winded barbarian.

Raregar was stunned. The Drow had caught him, the greatest barbarian of the tribe of the Elk, completely off guard and had struck with a strength far greater than any a race of his size could muster.

"Where am I?" Drizzt demanded, looking about. "And who are you?"

The barbarian gasped for air, raising a hand weakly.

"I . . . am . . ." was all he could force out. The Drow had palm-heeled him directly in the solar plexus. Forcing himself to recover, the barbarian wrestled the feelings from his body, sent a mental command to his brain to breathe.

"I am Raregar," he panted. "I mean you no harm . . ."

"Where am I?" the Drow commanded, his voice a bit softer now. A bit less powerful.

Raregar sucked in a breath, the effects of the strike wearing off finally.

"Where am I?" Drizzt repeated. When there was yet again no response, he stepped forward, as to grab the barbarian and force him to answer, but Raregar was on his feet before Drizzt had even taken a step. A step was all Drizzt had in him anyway. He staggered to the snow, too weak to continue. Raregar caught him before he hit the ground.

* * *

_Entry 1,_

_I do not know when I shall see my beloved wife Again. PRegnant with our first child, she was too wEak to continue the journey south down the Sword CoAst and so I reluctantly parted company with her, leaving her in the care of friends in Waterdeep. I do hope she fAres weLL. It will have been abouT a fortnight ago we parted ways. That would put Her in the sIxth month of her prEgnancy._

_After securing her accommodations with friends, my guide and I went to meet with our contact, who delivered to us a Valuable piEce of information vital to Solving this puzzle plaGuing Us ever sInce It became known to us._

_Based on our information, myseLf and Aernes, our guiDe, headed immediately for the dock, seeking ships setting sail soon. We searched for many hours for any ship willing to carry us to our destination, but in vain. We shall try again tomorrow._

Catti-brie looked up at the closed door, then back down at the page. There was some odd capitalization in the entry, which made it very difficult to read. Catti-brie wondered if it was just the way her father wrote, a sort of strange character trait, something that made him unique. She flipped the parchment over and scanned the entries on the other side for similar traits. Some of the entries had such strange capitalization, and others did not.

Catti-brie was suddenly struck by an idea. Turning the parchment back over to the original side, Catti-brie took a quill from the bedside table and quickly jotted down all of the capital letters in sequence. She looked at them, trying to discern a visible pattern.

E1IIPRESCAIWIALLTTHIEAIVESGUILADWW

She immediately started a new line, recopying the letters, only this time ignoring letters which were used at the beginning of sentences or referring to the person "I".

1AREAALLTHIEVESGUILD

Realizing what it said, she quickly added spaces between the newly forming words.

1 AREA WALL THIEVES GUILD

She sat there, pondering the message for a long moment, the only sound being her own soft breathing. Was it a complete message or was there more elsewhere? Eagerly, she continued reading the next relevant entry.

_Entry 3,_

_Drash fo racnash._

_A week has passed. We remain in Waterdeep trying to find a vessel and captain willing to take us to our destination.We have had no luck as of yet; all those we have approached become tight-lipped and nervous when we mention the name of the island of Carcathen and quickly decline to deal with us any longer._

_On our way back to our inn, Aernes and I were ambushed by three men dressed in billowing black cloaks and of their faces we could see nothing. They fought with the speed and agility of the finest of rangers and yet possessed the power of a mage. They slew Aernes and I was forced to flee for my life lest I swiftly follow._

_I lost them down an alleyway, where I waited the fall of night. Under the cover of the darkness, I returned to the dock to continue my search. This time the gods were with me, for I found a captain hanging about in a local drinking establishment and found him friendly to my cause once we had discussed it._

_We resolved to depart that very night. We parted ways, him to return to his ship to prepare to make sail, and I to my room at the inn to collect my belongings and the object for which we were going on this quest to be rid of. For risk of interception, I cannot speak of it openly._

_I returned to the dock within the hour and boarded the Sea Sprite.

* * *

_

Drizzt opened his eyes. Raregar was standing over him. The barbarian smiled and nodded, leaning back to look with respect at the drow ranger.

"You have returned again to the land of the living, I see," the barbarian commented wryly.

"Am I alive?" Drizzt asked, sitting up and glancing around at the camp.

"Surprisingly so," the barbarian admitted. "When I found you, you were stone cold and lying broken at the bottom of a mountain."

Drizzt winced, the images flashing before his eyes. Entreri. The duel. The orc, and the arrow. . . He clutched at his chest, quickly probing for a wound, though he found none. He lifted his tunic to run his hands over his chest, stunned. There was no evidence that he had even been shot with an arrow. He dropped his tunic and looked up at the barbarian in wonder.

"How am I alive? How is that possible?" the drow asked.

"That is a question that I would also like answered."

Drizzt felt a warm throb from his pocket. He reached in and extracted a fist-sized lavender jewel, which was humming with energy. It was the jewel he had found in the lair of BurningIce, the great dragon of renowned legend. It had healed his wounds from his battle with Artemis Entreri on the mountain.

"Is it possible. . . ?" Drizzt whispered, eyes locked on the jewel.

The barbarian stared at the jewel.

"What is that?"

"I found this in the lair of the dragon BurningIce. It appeared to heal the wounds I obtained in a battle with an. . ."

Drizzt paused midsentence, realizing what he had been about to say. Entreri was no longer an enemy, but what was he then? A friend? Drizzt wasn't quite sure about that, wasn't sure exactly where his and Entreri's relationship was now.

". . .an ex-rival." It wasn't what Drizzt wanted in terms of an answer, but it would have to do.

"It is a magnificent jewel."

"Yes," said Drizzt softly, gazing at the lavander stone. "And magical. It has healed me several times."

He paused and leaned forward.

"Is it possible that a healing gem can restore life? I have never heard of a stone of that power before," the ranger said.

The barbarian wore a curious look.

"You were dead," Raregar said.

"It would appear so."

"Do you remember anything?"

Drizzt was silent. Then he took a deep breath.

"Yes."

Drizzt said no more, and the fire in his lavender eyes told the barbarian that Drizzt's answer was all he was going to get for a while.

An awkward silence fell over the camp for a while. Drizzt stared into the flames of the fire, losing himself in their flickering dance.

Finally, Drizzt dared to break the silence.

"Where are my weapons?"

Stirred from his reverie, the barbarian turned to look at Drizzt, and for a second appeared as though he hadn't heard Drizzt speak. Then, realizing the question, he straightened.

"I don't know. When I found you, I saw no weapons nearby."

Drizzt nodded stoically. Inside, though, his emotions were active. His heart had sunk at the news of the loss of his beloved twin scimitars Icingdeath and Twinkle, and he felt a profound sense of emptiness, as if he had lost a part of himself.

* * *

Artemis Entreri adjusted his precarious handhold as he clung to the vertical mountain wall. The icewind of the dale howled around him and through the valleys and craggs of the mountains of the Spine of the World.

He was haunted by his memories, by the images of an orc arrow plunging into the chest of Drizzt Do'Urden, Drizzt staggering backwards and vanishing from sight over the edge of a thousand-foot cliff from the mountain top. Catti-brie's face when Entreri had appeared to deliver Alustriel's message, that haunted look of internal torment. He hated himself for not being able to do anything, to even reach out his hand and catch the falling Drizzt.

So he had determined to search for and find Drizzt's scimitars and return them to Catti-brie. Entreri knew that the dwarves had taken Icingdeath, which Drizzt had dropped on the mountain top, back to Mithril Hall and given it a place of honor among the weapons in the dwarven armory from the past kings and nobility.

He cautiously used his feet to pick out small ledges and outcrops for his slow descent. It was painstakingly slow going. But then, as his foot searched for a hold, he lost his grip as the rock crumbled away. His stomach lurched as he tipped backwards and fell away.

* * *

Calissious was the leader of Bryn Shandar, the largest of the communities of Ten-Towns.

He lay, fast asleep in the night, peacefully dreaming.

Then, a rough and urgent pounding of knuckle to wood instantly broke the hold sleep had over him, waking him from his slumber.

Rising from his bed angrily, he shrugged on a robe and opened the door.

A guard, covered in blood and looking terrified stood without.

"What is it?" Calissious bellowed angrily.

"Sir, I have just come from the wall. Ten-Towns is under attack."

"What? Barbarians?"

"No sir. Orcs. Thousands upon thousands of them. From the refugees streaming in, it looks as is we're the only town left."

"What do you mean, the only town left? Surely—"

"They rolled over the other towns sir, and now they're marching here."

Calissious nervously tugged his robe tighter around himself and stepped out into the hall. The guard turned and began to walk away. Calissious followed.

"How many refugees?" Calissious asked.

"Not meny. Probably less than a third of the population of Ten-Towns."

"Good gods."

"They did say that many were trying to escape to the lake, but we won't know anything for sure until tomorrow."

If there is a tomorrow, Calissious thought darkly.

They emerged from the house and headed for the wall.

As they reached the top of the wall, Calissious heard the artificial thunder of wardrums from outside the walls.

He glanced around at the many soldiers manning the walls, weapons clutched nervously in hand. He turned his gaze to beyond the wall, where a vast host of orcs were just coming into the light of the sentry fires.

"Barricade the gates!" bellowed Calissious.

A single horn sounded from without, and was answered by a thousand more, echoing the timbre of Ten-Towns' doom. Then the orc force surged ahead like a tidal wave of black water with a throaty shout of fifty thousand blood thirsty orcs.

Calissious was stunned.

"They offered no terms. . ."

Within the hour, Bryn Shander had fallen.

So it began.

The War of the Jewel had begun.

* * *

Entreri fell all of five feet to a narrow ledge. He rolled to his feet, using the momentum of his fall to right himself. Standing, he moved quickly along the ledge, searching for another way to continue his descent, when his foot struck something metallic. Hunkering down, Entreri found that he had stumbled upon his dagger, which he had lost along with Drizzt's blade.

It should be close by.

Pocketing the dagger, he continued his search.

* * *

Catti-brie looked up as Alustriel returned, closing the door to the room gently behind her.

"Have you—" the ruler of Silverymoon began. Catti-brie cut her off.

"I have to go to Waterdeep," Catti-brie said. "I have to find the answers."

She had to find the Sea Sprite.

* * *

Drizzt and Raregar discussed many things as they traveled and the sun sank lower in the sky and darkness settled over the landscape. They finally made camp at the edge of the Moonwood.

Tired from a long day of traveling, and with Drizzt still not at full strength, they collapsed to the ground and were soon blissfully asleep. The night was quite around them. Strangely silent. Not even the sound of animals or insects in the backround could be heard. It was truly silent. The two sleeping warriors never even heard them creeping up on the encampment.

They were surrounded by orcs. It was an orc patrol which had seen the campfire in the distance.

Raregar rolled to his feet, drawing his broadsword and warhammer in two fluid motions. He tossed the sword to Drizzt, despite the fact that it was nearly as big as the drow. Drizzt nimbly ducked aside and rolled away from the orcs, trying to escape, only to find a dozen spear points pressed against his skin. He stopped moving.

Raregar, with a roar of rage, struck an orc that ventured too close, crushing its head with his warhammer, black blood spattering the snow as the enemy fell away. It was only then that he realized that there was no way he could win. There were at least a hundred of the orcs, and all of them had their spears angled towards him and Drizzt. Breathing hard and looking angrily at the orcs, he dropped the hammer with a weighty thud. The orc ranks moved in tighter, until the spear tips were nearly touching Raregar and Drizzt's skin as they stood back-to-back, weaponless and surrounded. They were well and truly captured.

The orc commander stepped forward, eyeing the barbarian and drow. Drizzt saw a swelling pride in the orc as it realized that it had found significant prisoners.

"Prizes," it sneered. "Prizes for the war. Take them to the General."

End of chapter.


End file.
